Never Too Late
by Lithuenne
Summary: When sickness of the mind tears Thorin and Bilbo apart, will a horrible accident cause the hobbit to be lost to the company forever? Or will fate prove that it is never too late for love? *The summary kinda sucks, but please do give the story a read!*
1. The Fall

With a heavy sigh Bilbo slumped quietly on a stone bench in a corner. He leaned back against the wall, tired beyond measure from the desperate situation his dwarves were in. Thorin grew more distant by the day, his loving words more often being replaced by cold dismissal, and every new rebuff sent another icy stab to the hobbits fragile heart. All Bilbo wanted now was to be left alone, to close himself off so he would not have to see the dark light that had corrupted the eyes of his beloved. He felt torn in pieces, part of him wishing he were home, or that he had never come, another part tempted to lash out, to blame the dwarf for his lack of self control. Gold sickness Balin had called it. If that was the case, Bilbo would bury away every last coin, if he thought it would bring Thorin back to them, but he knew it was hopeless.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, letting it brush past the handkerchief that contained the arkenstone, his own dirty little secret, and felt cold fingers wrap around the small treasure beside it. Slowly he drew it out, until it sat quite snugly in his palm, caressing the smooth surface and letting himself feel a small measure of peace. It was such a simple thing, but infinitely more precious than anything the hoard of the mountain had to offer. At least in his humble opinion, though judging by the way his comrades continued to exclaim over shiny baubles nearby, none of the others were likely to share his sentiment.

He had been so wrapped up in his own temporary bubble of happiness that he failed to see the dwarf lurking in the shadows nearby, unaware for the moment that he had caught the attention of his king. His peace was shattered, harsh words dragging him swiftly back to reality.

"What is that?!" Thorin growled, marching towards him with a frightening glower.

Instinctively, Bilbo closed his hand around the small object in his palm, hiding it from view. "Nothing," he stammered quickly, forcing a tense smile onto his face.

His denial served only to rile the king further, until Bilbo wanted to shrink away from him. "Show me," Thorin demanded, his tone indicating that there would be no other outcome to the situation.

Praying that his keepsake would be safe, Bilbo uncurled his fist, revealing an entirely innocent object. A single acorn. "I picked it up in Beorn's garden," he explained, in answer to the perplexed look that Thorin was now offering him.

His easy admission seemed to spark something in the dwarf king, for in a moment of stunning clarity, Thorin smiled in awe. "You carried it all this way," he murmured.

Bilbo nodded, his own face lighting up at the return of Thorin's sanity. "I'm going to plant it, once all this is over, so that Erebor will have something green again. One day there may even be a forest of them, outside the mountain, and every time we look at them we can remember how lucky we were to make it all this way."

Thorin's answering smile was brilliant beyond compare as he swiftly clasped the hobbit in a careful embrace. "And we will sit under them, in our golden years, listening to the ravens. I cannot think of a better end to this journey," he promised lowly. The two held hands tightly, even as they pulled back to see each others faces, but their shared joy was quickly dispelled when Dwalin reluctantly interrupted.

"Thorin, the survivors of Laketown are flooding into Dale!" he announced rapidly. His words cut through the air, and Bilbo winced in fresh pain as Thorin dropped his hands abruptly, a dark mask dropping over his gaze once again. Bilbo was left to trail behind him as the entire company hastened to the barricade over the ruined gates.

* * *

The encounter with the lake men had not gone well at all. They had been joined by elves, and the very sight of his most hated adversaries sent Thorin into an apoplectic rage. The dwarf had screamed obscenities at them, ignoring the pleas of the men for aid and damning them all for the crime of associating with his rivals. None had been able to reason with him, and few tried, so that by the time they retreated back into the depths of the mountain they were under siege. The king prepared for war, preferring to battle to the death rather than relinquish even a tiny fraction of the mounds of treasure that surrounded them. Bilbo had once more left their company, choosing solitude over a renewed search for the arkenstone.

The hobbit wandered the corridors for some time, feeling the weight of deafening silence bear down upon him until it left his head swimming. He let his steps guide him back towards the others, hearing their voices before he saw them, and when he peeked around a corner he found himself at the armory. He watched from a distance down the hall as the dwarves armed themselves with ancient weapons and glittering armor, unable to help himself from staring at the sight of the king dressed as a figure from legend. Thorin was clad in armor of purest gold, a crown on his head and something that shone like stars draped over his arm.

"Come here Bilbo," the king ordered suddenly, startling the hobbit out of his thoughts and causing him to flush in embarrassment. He had to fight the urge to flinch under such close scrutiny as he approached, and was startled when there was suddenly a filmy barrier between the two. It took him a moment to realize that it was some kind of mail armor, dangling from Thorin's hands like rippling water and thin enough that the light of torches illuminated the dwarf's form for him to see behind the metal. "I want you to wear this," the dwarf commanded. "If it comes to a fight, I would have you be safe."

Bilbo swallowed past the lump in his throat at the heartfelt admission. The caring words were such a sharp contrast to the mad glint in Thorin's eyes, but to know that the dwarf still worried even when he had lost himself was enough to convince Bilbo to raise his arms without hesitation. The mail slid down over his shoulders, coming to rest lightly against the exposed skin of his neck, cooling his flushed skin. It was surprisingly light, and the hobbit could not help but run his hands over it as he awkwardly straightened it to cover his thin cotton shirt. The fond smile that Thorin bestowed upon him at the sight of the hobbit clad in unfamiliar armor did nothing to steady his nerves this time. Neither did the reassurance that they could hold against a siege indefinitely.

* * *

The king sat brooding on his throne, ignorant to the pleas of the company for him to come eat, or sleep. Unceasing in his demands that they ignore the host outside the fortified gates and continue to search for the arkenstone. Bilbo began to wonder if he should feel bad, withholding it like he was, but then he would remember Smaug's words. The dragon had sounded so delightedly smug, even as he warned the hobbit of Thorin's impending madness. As if there was nothing he would have liked more than to see the king unravel, which was probably closer to the truth than Bilbo wished to admit. The beast had been a sadistic creature, reveling in the pain of others, and now it appeared that his legacy would live on even as the treasure began to poison the dwarves and drive them to insanity. None of the others had yet succumbed, but for all Bilbo knew it was just a matter of time.

He had never felt so alone, observing Thorin from amongst the shadows, wondering if there was yet something he could try to snap the king out of his mental prison. He gasped as he felt the touch of a hand on his arm, turning to glance at Balin and Dwalin, not sure if he should feel gratified or just more concerned when the king did not react to the sound of his distress echoing through the chamber. The brothers drew him back a few paces, into another room.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Bilbo whispered sadly.

Balin just heaved a tired sigh, his face drawn and aged. "I don't know laddie, I just don't know."

Dwalin was nearly growling in frustration beside him, hands clenched in tight fists. "You're giving up?" he asked with barely controlled outrage.

"What would you have me do?" Balin grimaced, shaken to see his brother so incensed.

The other dwarf appeared to give this some serious thought. "I'd shake it out of him," he snarled heatedly. "Or perhaps we could bash him over the head and knock some sense back through his skull," he mused with a dangerous glare, as if to challenge the two to question him.

Balin choked out a nearly hysterical laugh. "You know that won't work," he reminded his hot headed brother.

"It could be worth a shot," Dwalin grumbled, too annoyed to admit he knew the other was right.

Looking between the two, Bilbo felt a sudden surge of anger, that they should be so discouraged and lost. Their pain seemed to know no bounds, for they had known Thorin nearly all their lives. They no longer recognized this stranger wearing the crown, and that thought had Bilbo grasping for their arms in a comforting gesture. "I will speak to him. Perhaps... perhaps I can reason with him. He was nearly himself earlier, when we were talking. Maybe he just needs a little reminder."

Dwalin stared at him, his gaze inscrutable as he contemplated the hobbit, but Balin was smiling sadly. "Aye laddie," he agreed. "You may be the only one who can reach him now."

Squaring his shoulders, Bilbo strode down the hall with a small push of encouragement from the others. He glanced back at them only once, motioning for them to move off and give him some privacy, and they nodded in understanding, retreating to the treasure room. Soon the sound of their heavy foot falls had faded away, leaving nothing but a pressing silence, the quiet only broken by the thudding of Bilbo's heart and the incoherent mumbles of the king on his throne.

"Thorin?" Bilbo called out softly, laying a trembling hand on Thorin's knee when the dwarf shifted to acknowledge him. He waited patiently, and when the king offered him a glimmer of a smile he relaxed ever so slightly. "Can we talk?" He waited again, breath held in trepidation. A nod, and Bilbo began to force the words out. It was no carefully prepared speech, no diplomatic request, but a heartfelt plea. "We need to help the men outside. They... they are starving, and homeless, and it is our fault for waking Smaug. _My_ fault," he winced, remembering the encounter with horrifying clarity.

To his surprise Thorin said nothing, merely staring at him as if he were not quite seeing the small man before him. Bilbo blinked in discomfort, wishing to escape the weight of that troubled gaze, but unwilling to provoke any sort of harsh reaction. Thorin's hand lifted, and for one fleeting moment Bilbo thought the dwarf intended to strike him. His flinch went unnoticed, the large palm coming to rest gently against his cheek, thumb sweeping broad strokes over his skin. It was unnerving, such a warm gesture, when the face of the king remained coldly expressionless. "Bilbo, you do not have to worry about them," Thorin promised lowly, his every word causing the hobbits heart to sink lower and lower. "They cannot hurt us in here, and once Dain arrives with his army we will send them away. The dwarves will become strong again, and you my treasure, you will stand beside me here, and I will cover you in all the gems you desire." The hand dropped then, the king turning away in an obvious dismissal.

Bilbo backed away, holding back a sob as Thorin's renewed muttering drove through his head. That was it then. They would go to war, maybe even die, and none of that even mattered, because even if they won there would be no victory. Not for Bilbo, who had lost the only thing important to him in this cold kingdom. What had they gained in the end? Not a home, that was for certain. Just a hall full of empty promises and ghosts. He suddenly felt very tired, and as he worked to place one leaden step in front of the other he stumbled over a bit of rock. With a startled cry, the hobbit lurched to the side and into empty air...

* * *

**Author's note: So, I wanted to address the issue of Thorin's goldsickness, and I really really ship Bagginshield, and I came up with a rather morbid idea. This is going to be a short story, five chapters long that I already have fully written and am just editing, and full of angst, but there will be a happy ending, because I am a sucker for those. Please do let me know what you think, and the next chapter will be up tomorrow. **


	2. Escaping the Darkness

Thorin gazed off into the darkness with a vague smile, calling up visions of his beloved hobbit covered in golden chains and jewels. It would be a beautiful sight, of that he was certain. He would have to stoke up the furnaces, craft new pieces by his own hands to suit his delicate consort. Leaves of gold, studded with the tiniest of emeralds, and flowers of rubies and sapphires with diamond centers. The mithril shirt was a good start, even if it had not been made with the hobbit in mind, but Thorin loved the way it sat against his pale skin, a bright distraction under copper hair. Perhaps he could drape jewels of a similar nature in the hobbits curls, over his neck, around his wrists and ankles. Jewels of white starlight like the skies over the Shire, and wouldn't the poncy elf king be angered by _that_! Thorin grinned at the thought of the stupid creature protesting angrily to see the gems he coveted most displayed for all to see on the King's treasure.

He felt he could hear the very sound of despair that would fall from Thranduil's lips, a thin cry that reverberated around the hall, until he realized it was far too loud to be a figment of his daydreams. With a start, Thorin glanced up, tempted to berate whoever had chosen to interrupt his musings, only to blink in disbelief. The hobbit was falling, arms thrown out in a fruitless attempt to regain balance, tiny fingers grasping for anything other than air. Thorin lurched to his feet, denial pounding a swift tempo in his heart as the hobbit disappeared out of sight. Surely he was hallucinating, his hobbit was fine, Bilbo was fine... Then came the dull thud, echoing back to him from some dim place far below, and Thorin held his breath until he was dizzy, reluctantly peering over the side. The small crumpled form was almost indiscernible against the darkness below.

The whispered no was a roaring in his ears. No, this was wrong, this couldn't be happening, it was some sort of trick. The king raced through the halls, his footing sure even as his world threatened to collapse around him, desperate to refute this impossible truth. He took a corner hard, bashing his shoulder into the stone wall, ignoring the flaring pain as breath came in ragged gasps. Another corner and he was toppling to his knees, the treasury massed in front of him. The company were at his side in an instant, but he barely saw them, his wild gaze turning to fix on the corridor he would need... there! He stumbled upright again, dashing off with the others fast on his heels, their cries for an explanation ignored in favor of speed.

Far too much time had passed when he at last reached his destination, and he sank to his knees with a moan, hands hovering uncertainly over the broken body. Bilbo's eyes were clamped shut in fearful agony, breath coming in wheezing gasps, arms and legs splayed out in gruesome parody of a rag doll. "Bilbo?" Thorin whispered thinly, one finger gently moving a wayward curl off the hobbits face.

Bilbo's eyes flickered, cracking open slowly, then ranging around until they came to rest on the dwarf. "Thorin?" Green eyes met teary blue, and the hobbit smiled weakly to see the clarity returned to their crystalline depths. Suddenly the smile faded, replaced by a look of deepest guilt, and Bilbo's fingers twitched as he tried to move his arm.

"Don't," Thorin choked out, trying to prevent the feeble struggles without injuring the hobbit further. "Don't move, just lie still. It's going to be alright," he sobbed. Tears misted his vision, but through them he could see Bilbo's lips moving, his voice too quiet to hear as he fought for breath. Thorin leaned closer, not wanting to lose a second of hearing that most precious of sounds.

"My pocket... look in," Bilbo whispered, eyes drifting to the left. Confused, but unable to deny the hobbit anything now, Thorin reached in and pulled out the wrapped bundle that lay there. The linen square fell open in his hands, and the dwarf was struck dumb at the sight of the blinding light shimmering in his palm. The arkenstone threw out rainbows of color, leaving all else dull by comparison. '_Not all_,' Thorin thought. '_Not Bilbo_.' The hobbit would outshine even the brightest of gems, and that revelation brought the object of his thoughts crashing back to the forefront of his mind. His eyes flew to Bilbo's face, heart stopping as he realized that the arkenstone had indeed drained all color from the hobbit. He lay pale and still.

"Bilbo?" Thorin whimpered uncertainly. He laid a palm against Bilbo's cheek, ice rushing through his veins when there was no response. "Bilbo no, please, please wake up..." His hand drew back, fists tried to clench, only to be stopped by the large gem in his hand. He ignored it in favor of staring intently at the hobbit, as if by his will alone he might make this all go away. "Please..." Still there was nothing, not even a twitch of a finger, and suddenly the ice was replaced by boiling rage. He glared down at the traitorous stone in his hands, hating what was once so all-consuming in its beauty. With a bellow of anger he hurled it away, disgusted by the very sight, and he felt only the mildest of satisfaction when it shattered against a wall, coating the stone in glittering fragments. Chest heaving, the tears began anew, flooding down his face until he buried it in his hands in shame, unable to look upon the company.

Balin was the first to gather himself, kneeling down opposite the king and letting a hand trail along Bilbo's face in mourning. The hobbits eyes were closed, but still he did not look like he was sleeping, he did not appear at peace, and the dwarf found this strange in the dim part of his mind that was still functioning. Idly the hand trailed lower, past Bilbo's chin and along his neck, only to stop abruptly in shock. A faint thump beat against his fingers, the trembling pulse making itself known with stubborn insistence. "Mahal," Balin whispered. "He's still alive. Thorin, he's still alive, there may be yet time..!" By the end of his revelation he was almost yelling in fearful hope, and it was enough to jerk the king from his pained stupor.

Thorin looked up with red-rimmed eyes, half crazed, but with a madness that was contrived in grief rather than gold. When he spoke his words almost seemed to lack inflection, the calm of shock tempering his next commands. "Oin get over here please. Keep him alive, do whatever you must, but keep him breathing if at all possible." The healer nodded, moving quickly to his side and gently nudging him out of the way so he might see what needed doing. "Balin, send for the wizard. Tell him whatever you must, but get him here." He hesitated for a fraction of a second then before adding with the barest reluctance, "send for Thranduil also. Offer him his gems, offer him anything, just get them here now."

Many of the company started, even Balin whirling back around in surprise from where he had already been heading away. "Thranduil? You wish the elf to come here?" he asked incredulously, trying and failing to hide his disgust. The sentiment was echoed on most of the others faces, but Thorin just glared imperiously up at him.

"Yes I want the blasted elf! You think any of this matters when Bilbo is dying? I would give him the mountain if it means Bilbo will have a better chance!" The group flinched at his tone, but there were no more questions, and Balin raced as fast as he could towards where he had last seen one of their messenger birds.

* * *

If Gandalf was surprised to have a raven land insistently on his arm and give him a message, he did not show it. The wizard merely excused himself from the company of the elven king and Bard, promising to return when he had dealt with what he assumed was a private matter. It was only seconds later that he reentered the tent, his expression that of barely concealed panic that had the other two rising quickly to their feet.

"What has happened?" Bard cried first, agitated at the sight of the wizard looking as far from collected as he had ever seen him. Even Thranduil was frowning gravely, abandoning his usual impassive facade when Gandalf slammed a tattered bit of parchment on the table between them.

The missive was staggering despite its relative simplicity. '_Gandalf. Accident in halls, Bilbo wounded, near death. Please help. Bring the elf, promise him anything. Please. Regards, Thorin_.'

"Could this be some sort of trap?" Bard wondered aloud, shrinking back a little at Gandalf's withering look.

"He does not sign as king under the mountain," Thranduil observed almost casually, flipping the paper over with pale fingers to see the back. Nothing else was written upon it, so he abandoned his idle curiosity.

"Indeed," Gandalf returned, a smug tone to his voice despite the gravity of the situation. "I do believe our king may be cured of his sickness."

Thranduil nearly rolled his eyes, unwilling to take anything at face value. "I will be the judge of that myself," he said coolly, before snapping out a command to the nearest elven guard. The guard promptly hastened off, returning with two of his healers. "Come," he beckoned them with a snap of his fingers. "We are going to the mountain."

"A most wise decision," Gandalf murmured in approval, ignoring the scathing retort shot his direction as he fell in behind the elves.

"You had better hope it pays off," Thranduil snapped, the threat in his words clear.

* * *

When Balin returned, it was with a wizard and three elves at his back, and he already appeared hard pressed to keep his temper after suffering the presence of Thranduil for so many minutes.

Gandalf brushed past them first, pain evident on his face at the sight of the broken hobbit, and the dwarf king who had not moved from his side. "Oh Bilbo, my dear friend, whatever have you done now?" he murmured sadly.

"He fell so far," Thorin whispered, staring at his hands where they shook in his lap. He looked up then, his gaze searing. "Please say you can fix him," he pleaded brokenly, fixing Thranduil with the full force of his stare. "I will give you your white gems, anything you ask. I would give you the arkenstone if I hadn't..." Here a strangled noise of derision tore from his throat as he gestured vaguely in the direction of the shards that still lay scattered about. The elf followed his gaze, eyes widening. "It was worth nothing compared to his life," Thorin muttered, looking down again in a twisted mix of fondness and agony.

"We will help, though I make no promises," Thranduil found himself assuring. He knew this pain, and would not have wished it upon anyone, so in this he really had no other choice. The elves he had brought had already begun to catalog the hurts that littered Bilbo's small form.

"We should move him somewhere safer if possible," one of them ventured.

"Are you sure it's wise to try moving him?" Oin questioned them.

The elf looked torn, but settled with nodding. "It would appear that nearly every bone is broken, or at least cracked. We cannot do much more damage than has been done, and it will be better if he is somewhere clean and warm." Behind them Thorin moaned in despair, but they spared him no more than a compassionate glance before getting straight to work. Balin led the way, allowing the healers to carry Bilbo along until they reached a room near the treasury. A fire was lit, blankets were brought from the packs they had scattered about, and the company was ushered out of the room to give the healers space to work. All that was left to do was wait.

* * *

**Author's note: The ride of pain is only just beginning my friends. Goblins approach the mountain, and Bilbo's life hangs in the balance... Stay tuned, and let me know what you think. Only three more chapters to go, the next will be posted tomorrow.  
**


	3. Shattered Memory

War had come to the slopes of Erebor. A legion of goblins and wargs, followed by their minions of darkness. The fight lasted throughout the night, and even though victory had been achieved at last, many good lives were lost. Now the exhausted fighters were trailing back into the shelters that had been hastily erected, to begin the painful process of recovery.

Meanwhile, inside the mountain another battle was being fought. The life of a hobbit had balanced precariously on the edge of a knife, and even when the healers declared him out of the woods there was little hope, for he did not wake. They had bandaged and splinted, chanting prayers and dribbling healing potions down his unresponsive throat, while the miraculously intact company hovered nearby.

For nearly three weeks there was no change. Bilbo lay pale and still upon the large bed, rendered mostly immobile by the almost full body cast that was keeping his mending bones in place. Not a sound left his lips, nor a twitch from beneath closed eyelids to indicate he still remained among the living. Only a steady pulse in his wrist and neck, cold comfort for friends that wished only to hear his voice and see green eyes lit with their usual cheer. Some had begun to lose hope, wondering if perhaps his sleep was one of death rather than healing. An ever present fear permeated those that doted upon him, that one day they might enter the room to find he had slipped away.

* * *

Warm. That was the sensation that came to him when Bilbo felt the first stirrings of consciousness tug at his mind. It was quiet around him, and he wondered what time of day it would have to be for the birds not to be singing. It wasn't like him to sleep in. He attempted to stretch, trying to ease the knots he could feel in his back, only to be stopped short as he realized he could not move at all. Panic set in then, though he did not know why, for surely it was just his quilts wrapped too tightly, and he would be just fine once he extracted himself.

Bilbo's eyes fluttered open, the better to understand his no doubt laughable predicament, only to be met with a dull grey roof over his head, like stone. He blinked in confusion. What was this now? Bag end had no stone, and since when did his blankets ever get so tight? Suddenly, his attempts to wriggle out of the prison he could not see were noticed by someone out of his view, and a booming voice assaulted his ears, even as its owner was clearly attempting to keep quiet.

"Hey, welcome back laddie!" A face appeared over his head, unlike anything he had ever seen before, and his panic returned.

"Back?" he shrilled in confusion. "Back from where? What is going on?"

More people appeared around him at the sound of his voice, and he started to feel overwhelmed by all the attention he was getting, even as he strained to find a familiar face. None of them were hobbits. _Where was he? What was going on?!_ He must have uttered those questions aloud, for a man with a white beard answered, looking especially grave.

"You're in Erebor laddie, do you not remember? You took a bit of a fall, but you're going to be alright. Mustn't try to move now, just focus on getting better."

The words were meant to be soothing, he supposed, but Bilbo only ended up with more questions, none of them comforting. _Erebor? Where in the bloody blazes was that? And just when had he gotten so foul mouthed? _A few of his audience quirked smiles at that observation, but offered no theory, and their mirth vanished entirely with his last and most important observation. "Who are you?"

The faces around him suddenly saddened, a few looking genuinely crushed indeed, and for a moment Bilbo almost felt bad, as if he had kicked a puppy. They were exchanging looks, seemingly unsure how to answer this. "You don't remember us?" One of the younger ones cried, his dark hair swinging unkempt around a nearly beardless face in his distress.

"What? I've never met you before in my life!" Bilbo spluttered, hating how these people could look so hurt when it was clearly they who had done something to him. Ideas began to flit through his head, each one more frightening than the last. Perhaps he had been knocked over the head and robbed on one of his walks, and these people had found him? Perhaps they were the ones to rob him and were only faking sincerity? Perhaps he had been kidnapped for some nefarious purpose?! Why couldn't he move? Had they incapacitated him in some way? Had he been drugged?

Pain began to filter through his terror, and he whimpered at the fiery pinpricks that assaulted his entire body, still immobile and unable to escape the agony that grew quickly. His chest felt constricted by iron bands, his arms and legs unbearably heavy, and he could not hear the soothing words that were being said past the roaring in his ears. '_Easy lad, drink this and get some more rest_...' A nasty liquid was being trickled down his helpless throat, and he nearly choked on it before managing to swallow what was forced upon him. The room swam, and Bilbo was soon lost to the world once more...

* * *

"Thorin wait!" Balin insisted, unable to stop the king from barging into the healing rooms now that his meeting was over. He glared at his adviser, annoyed that he had missed the awakening of his hobbit and determined to rectify the mistake.

"What could be more important than my being at Bilbo's side?" he snapped imperiously, daring the elder dwarf to contradict him.

Balin winced, dragging his confession from the pit of his stomach. "He does not remember us," he murmured sadly, and Thorin stilled, blinking as he registered the words he did not want to hear.

"What?" he whispered in shock. He glanced over Bilbo's prone form as Balin continued to speak, noting with dismay the tear tracks that streaked across his pale face. He had woken oblivious, he would have been so afraid... And there was nothing Thorin could do to comfort him, because he did not remember them. He was only dragged away from increasingly dark thoughts at the sound of someone else entering the room.

"I heard what happened," Gandalf murmured sadly, meeting Thorin's eyes for a brief moment before the king was forced to retract his gaze, unable to bear the pity in that ancient face. "I will be taking Bilbo to Rivendell, and then home. I believe that is best, considering all that has happened."

To the surprise of all three, it was Balin that protested the most. "Surely that is not necessary? We are capable of taking care of him just fine here. He should be at Thorin's side when he..." He trailed off uncertainly. Thorin just stared at Gandalf, resigned to the way things were going to be. He had no more fight left in him.

"He may never remember," Gandalf said compassionately. "It is best that he be allowed to heal in a place he feels safe. You cannot think that it will be good for him to wake in fear each day, wondering what has become of him?"

When Thorin offered no argument Balin sagged. "You're right of course. I just..." he shrugged helplessly, his outrage dying like the candle that guttered low on a nearby table.

The awkward silence was broken by Thorin. "When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn," Gandalf said heavily. "I will have him sleep through the journey. For now I must go, I have preparations to make. I will return by morning."

Thorin nodded, allowing Balin to trail after the wizard. He slumped at the bedside, feeling drained and sad. Reaching out a tentative hand, he ran gentle fingers over Bilbo's cheek, cupping the small face with a shaking hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse from barely restrained tears. Bilbo didn't move, and it cut further that he would never be acknowledged again, never receive that brilliant smile, nor catch a glimpse of sparkling emerald eyes. With a pained sigh, he hefted himself out of the chair and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Morning dawned bright and clear, and all around the birds newly returned to the mountain were chirping joyfully. '_Mocking me no doubt_,' Thorin thought to himself bitterly. He stared straight ahead, standing at the front of the group that had assembled to bid farewell to their hobbit. Gandalf had Bilbo held securely in his grasp, prepared to mount up, and he raised curious brows at the pony that was led to a place beside his own horse, burdened with supplies and a rather ornate chest.

"It's his share," Gloin offered. "Well, part of it anyway," he corrected himself hastily.

"Aye, we each put something in, to remember us..." Bofur twisted his hat in his hands, his usual cheer all but gone.

"Tis only a fraction of what he earned, but we couldn't send him off empty handed," Dwalin added shakily, frowning deeper than ever.

"Will you tell him..." Kili trailed off miserably, unable to speak past the tears, and Fili was forced to complete his thought.

The elder brother squared his shoulders, attempting to be stoic like his uncle and failing, face twisted in a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "Tell him he will always be welcome in Erebor, and if he ever wants another adventure to come visit us."

The others added similar sentiments, many unable to speak. Ori squeaked out an incoherent plea, thrusting a small book into Gandalf's hand before retreating to the comfort of his brothers embrace. Families stood close together, united in grief, until only Thorin had yet to say his goodbyes. He strode forward to take in the sight of the hobbit one last time, unable to restrain himself from placing a kiss on the pale forehead. "Farewell, my heart," he murmured. "Go back to your books, and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow, and know that we are thinking of you." Shrinking back, he seemed to fold in on himself, tears now running unchecked, and Fili and Kili hurried to his sides, sharing warmth and strength with the sorrow-stricken king.

"You'll keep an eye on him?" Balin choked out.

"Two eyes, as often as I can spare them," the wizard promised. "I expect I shall be back this way, once I have got him settled at home, for I very much look forward to seeing this place rebuilt."

"We'll have a room ready for you," Thorin assured him. "Safe journey, Gandalf."

The wizard mounted up, Bilbo carefully cradled in his lap and the pony following after on a lead. He offered the group one last benign smile. "Until our next meeting." The company stayed where they were, waving until the two had passed well out of sight before retreating into the darkness of the mountain. Clouds moved across the sun, its cheerful warmth stolen away as if it had only held on for Bilbo's sake.

* * *

**Author's note: I did say this story was going to have lots of angst right? Well here, have another double spoonful, and tell me what you think! Next chapter coming tomorrow.  
**


	4. Sense of Loss

The trip to Rivendell was quiet and uneventful, and it was with great relief that Gandalf placed Bilbo in the care of the elves. He had kept the hobbit in a magical slumber for the trip, and it would be some hours yet until he woke, so the wizard took the time to explain the situation as best he could. Elrond listened gravely, saddened by the tragic story.

"So he remembered nothing?" the elf lord asked, glancing to his newest patient.

"No, and I intend to keep it that way," Gandalf cautioned, earning a sharp frown. The wizard sighed, taking the unspoken judgement with a measured look. "He went through too much. I will not go into detail, but suffice it to say, I think it best he returns to his life none the wiser. I would ask that none of your people mention the company, or Erebor."

Elrond seemed as close to scowling as an elf had ever been, but he inclined his head in reluctant acceptance. "As you wish. I do not pretend to know all things, but are you sure this is the right choice?"

Gandalf snorted indelicately. "Since when are you in support of the dwarves? You barely tolerated their presence when last they were here."

"It is not them who I ask for," Elrond replied mildly. "But perhaps you are right. Hobbits are gentle folk, accustomed to sunlight and peace. I am sure he will go back to his old life just fine." There was the lightest note of uncertainty in his tone, as if he did not believe his own words, but Gandalf ignored it. "What of this chest of things?" the elf lord questioned him. "Do you intend to leave it here, unopened?"

Gandalf grimaced, flipping open the lid to see what was actually inside, for he had not checked. Gold filled most of it, but not coins. Pendants, anklets, brooches, even a delicately wrought crown, and over top of all, the mithril shirt and Bilbo's sword. Every piece carefully picked to appeal to a hobbits simple taste, nothing heavy or overly decorated. The dwarves had clearly gotten to know Bilbo well. Two other items surprised the wizard. Thorin's map, a little tattered and weather worn, and the iron key to the hidden door.

With a gentle shake of his head, Gandalf moved to shut it away, before recalling the book Ori had pushed into his hands. It now resided in his pocket, and he drew it out, opening it to the first page. His old heart threatened to crack, every page was filled with drawings. Bag end, Rivendell, Beorn's, Mirkwood, Laketown, Erebor, all done with remarkable detail. At the end, pictures of all the company, some head shots, and a few group pictures. Bilbo had been included in a sketch of the Durins, Fili and Kili with their arms slung behind Thorin's back, the king placing gentle hands on Bilbo's shoulders, the quartet smiling broadly.

The book was placed reverently on top of everything, the lid closed with a dull thunk of finality. "Yes, the chest will stay here. Perhaps one day it can make its way to Bag End..."

* * *

Bilbo woke slowly, the familiar sound of birdsong filling his ears. His nose twitched, a beam of sunlight tracking across his face causing it to itch. He opened his eyes to yet another unfamiliar room, but this place was cheerful and similar enough to his home that he was not afraid, merely curious. He wished he could sit up to get a better view, but it appeared he was still unable to move, and for a brief moment he felt a lingering sense of unease.

"Hello?" he called softly, voice rough from disuse. "Is anyone there?"

"My dear Bilbo, how good it is to see you awake." A wizened face came into view, framed by greying hair and a long beard, but Bilbo did not recognize it, despite the peace it invoked.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked apologetically, feeling rather bad, for clearly the man was familiar with him.

For a brief moment a flicker of sorrow crossed the mans face, before vanishing swiftly, banished by a smile. "Well you know my name, though you seem to have forgotten that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means... me!"

Bilbo almost felt like giggling at the indignant tone that laced his speech, a memory creeping to mind. "Gandalf! You used to make fireworks on midsummers eve!"

"Yes, that's right dear boy," the man chuckled.

"Gandalf, where are we?" the hobbit asked next. "And why can't I move? What has happened?" Bilbo was calm enough still, his courage bolstered by the appearance of an old family friend as he waited patiently for the answers he sought.

Laugh lines deepened on Gandalf's face as he made his careful reply. "We are in Rivendell, dear Bilbo, the home of the elves. You took a bit of a nasty fall, and I brought you here to heal up."

"Dear me, I don't remember that at all," Bilbo groused, frowning at the thought that he had been so injured that he was now laid flat in a bed. His dismay vanished however in the next moment as he processed the rest of what Gandalf had said. "Wait, Rivendell? There are elves here!? I always wanted to see elves. How marvelous!"

"And see elves you shall, little one," a new voice broke in. A face soon leaned within his frame of view, giving him an owner to the voice. "Welcome to Rivendell, Master Baggins. I am Lord Elrond, and despite the rather unfortunate circumstances that have brought you here, we are glad to make your acquaintance."

* * *

Many weeks passed, and slowly the casts and bandages came off, until at last Bilbo was standing shakily on his own two feet in the room that had been given to him for the duration of his stay. He held tightly to the walking stick that had been carved for him, exiting the room to stand on the balcony where he let the breeze waft over his face. It was utter bliss, and he closed his eyes and drew in eager breaths, trying to absorb his surroundings into his very skin.

After a moment he glanced down into the valley, watching idly as the elves went about their business. Some waved to him when they spotted him standing there, and he shyly returned the gesture. When he had gotten his fill he returned to the room, jumping in surprise at the sight of Gandalf sitting in a chair and watching him carefully. He realized with a mild jolt that he had not seen the wizard in a couple of weeks, and greeted him cheerfully. "Gandalf! Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there," the man replied evasively, lips quirked in a smile. "I wondered if perhaps you were thinking about heading home, now that you are mobile."

Bilbo thought for a moment, breaking out into a grin as a surge of longing hit him. "Home, yes, what a wonderful idea. Not that I haven't been enjoying myself here you know, but it has been too long. I do hope Lobelia hasn't been rifling through my things while I have been gone. After all, it was a rather unexpected journey. Why, I do not know if I even locked the door," he mused.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Gandalf chuckled, relieved that he had taken time to ensure the house was ready for Bilbo's return. It would be just as it had been when the hobbit left, well over a year past, and while he hadn't been able to quell the rumors, he had at least made sure the biggest one was that Bilbo had been injured, and was returning with no memory of what happened. He just hoped that would be enough to stop anyone from asking awkward questions.

* * *

They left Rivendell the next day, with many fond farewells following after the hobbit, and a heartfelt promise to return some day. Bilbo sat on the pony he had been given with ease, and while he might have taken the time to question just when he had gotten so familiar with the animals, he was presently far too consumed with the thought of his beloved home to contemplate anything else.

The trip was short, filled with sunny days and warm nights, until finally Bilbo stood facing the green door to his home once again. He heaved a happy sigh, hopping down from the back of his mount and leaving it to graze in his garden as he pushed the door open. Sun shafted through the windows, sending a steady illumination throughout the front rooms, and Bilbo took a moment to just look around. Everything was as he left it.

Satisfied, Bilbo headed straight for the kitchen to make some tea, calling back to Gandalf as he followed slowly, the wizard ever mindful of his head in the small spaces. "Would you like some tea Gandalf?" he asked, gathering up the kettle and a plate of what appeared to be freshly made biscuits. Well, that was nice of whomever had sent those along. It seemed his arrival had been anticipated, he would have to find out who the kind soul was so he could offer a proper thank you.

"No, no tea, I must be off," the wizard said gently, coming up behind Bilbo and almost startling him into dropping the tea pot.

"Already? But you only just got here," Bilbo said sadly.

"I'm afraid so," Gandalf offered apologetically. "A wizards business is never finished after all."

Bilbo slumped a little, his prior enthusiasm flagging at the thought of an empty home. "Oh well, don't be a stranger at least," he ordered his friend. "Tea is at four, you feel free to drop in whenever you like, and thank you Gandalf. For everything."

"You are quite welcome, my dear Bilbo. I shall be sure to take you up on your offer. Until next time." Bilbo waved the wizard off fondly, closing the door behind him once the man was well away.

"Well, that's that then," he muttered to himself. He stood in the middle of his dining room, wondering why it felt so empty, before giving himself a shake and making up his tea.

* * *

Bilbo slipped easily back into his routine, ignoring the little things that piled up in the corner of his mind, the feelings of loss and strangeness. First it was his best waistcoat, missing from his closet, but after a fruitless search the hobbit was forced to concede that he must have been wearing it the day he was injured, and doubtless it got left behind in Rivendell. It was a little irritating, but he could get another made.

Next was a warm night some weeks after his return. He was sitting in his armchair before the roaring hearth, and he felt he could almost hear singing when he closed his eyes. Which would not have been odd in the slightest, his mother having oft sung to him, had it not been of a much deeper timbre. It struck a chord in his heart, but he could not figure why, so he gathered himself and went swiftly to bed.

Time passed, and slowly the odd happenings fell to the back of his mind, until he had almost forgotten them entirely. Gandalf would pop in now and then, staying for a short visit, and though he felt the wizard was expecting something from him the man never said what, so the strange looks just joined the pile of other things Bilbo passed off as merely his imaginings.

* * *

Ten years passed in a mountain far to the east, the dwarves of a certain company ever looking for the approach of a wizard cloaked in grey. He would come nearly every year, like clockwork, just as he had promised, to appraise them of the health of their hobbit.

"How is he?" they would ask. '_Does he remember us_?' remaining unspoken.

Always the answer was the same. "He is well," spoken in a tone that gave clear answer to the most pressing question. '_No, he does not_.' It was bittersweet news, but the dwarves would take what they could get, and despite wanting to resent the wizard they were ever grateful for knowing that at least Bilbo was happy.

* * *

**Author's note: Alright, this chapter was a little brighter in tone (at least for some of our characters), and we are now almost at the end. Next chapter will be the last, and may I take this chance to remind my readers that I promised a happy ending. However, happy comes with angst too, so expect the next and last installment to be a bit of a roller coaster as I tie things up. As always, tell me what you thought, I love to hear what people made of it, and if you think there was something I could have done better etc.  
**


	5. Revelation and Reunion

Nearly ten years to the day in which a hobbit had run out of his house after a company of dwarves, Lord Elrond found his mind filled with a peculiar sight. That same hobbit, looking a little older, standing outside the gates to the kingdom of Erebor. He could not imagine what had prompted such a vision, but he was not one to argue with fate. It seemed that time had come at last for a certain chest of gold to make its way back to its rightful owner.

Fate indeed, the elf smirked, thinking of just the ranger for the task of delivery man. Young Aragorn had been far too cozy with Arwen of late, and getting him out of the valley would please him to no end. He loved the boy like a son, but he would not tolerate anyone making a suit towards his precious only daughter. He called the man into his suite, showing him the chest and briefly explaining his mission, and thankfully the young man was eager to take on the job.

Aragorn listened to the story with interest, excited to get a chance to meet some of the folk that he spent so much time protecting. They were a happy bunch, from all the tales he had been told in his youth, their hospitality second to none.

* * *

One might almost think magic were in the air that day, for in a home in the ground under a grassy hill, a hobbit found something in his laundry that he did not expect. A simple gold ring, nothing special to look at, but he had never seen it before, and he had no idea how he had missed it all these years. It looked of a size to fit him perfectly, so with a shrug he slipped it on, curious to see how it would look.

The next few moments were utter terror for Bilbo, as his world shifted to grey, and a roaring filled his ears with indecipherable whispers. Only the band on his finger retained its color, gleaming wickedly against his pale skin. Bilbo yanked it off, flinging it away with shaking hands as tears of fright streamed down his face. He had no idea what had just happened, but he wanted nothing to do with the horrible bit of gold ever again. Dragging himself to his feet, he lurched into his bed room and collapsed on the covers, leaving the ring behind where it lay innocently in a dark corner.

Strange were his dreams that night, but not unpleasant, and he remembered only one by the time dawn broke. Blue eyes, framed with laugh lines, and so beautiful that he was nearly brought to tears once again.

* * *

Aragorn strode quietly through the Shire two weeks from his departure of Rivendell, the chest strapped to his horse as the beast walked placidly beside him. To his mild dismay, the hobbits he encountered were painfully shy, and he was unable to have so much as a conversation with any of them before they would retreat into their homes with a suspicious look upon their faces. He knew he was a little grimy from his time in the wild, but he had honestly expected less hostility than this, and it left him quite discouraged. Perhaps he would not even be able to deliver his bundle, if the owner decided he was too foul to open the door to.

With trepidation, Aragorn knocked on the door to Bag End, and grinned in spite of his tenseness at the harried shout of acknowledgement. "Coming, coming, just a moment!" The door was flung open, and the hobbit, one Bilbo Baggins, gazed up at him with friendly curiosity, easing his worry in an instant. "Oh, hello there. Are you lost?"

Aragorn chuckled. "Nay, I am here to deliver something to you, if you are indeed Master Baggins."

"Oh!" the hobbit cried, staring past him at the laden horse. "For me? Yes I am Bilbo Baggins, do come in, would you like some tea?"

"That would be most appreciated," the ranger murmured gratefully, unhooking the chest and bringing it inside. He laid it down where bidden, sitting awkwardly at the short table and feeling rather dumbfounded as he was plied with far more food than he could hope to consume in a meal. He fell to with a will, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bilbo opened the chest.

The hobbit felt a rising confusion at the sight before him. Metal armor, a small sword that appeared made for his hand, and more gold than he had seen in a lifetime. "Are you sure this is for me?" he asked with a frown, his uncertainty only growing with the answering nod. "Dear me, who could have sent this? I have no idea what I am going to do with such things." He pushed the metal work to the side, uncovering a small leather bound book, of the kind that might be used as a journal. "Well now, this is more up my alley, I do like a good book," he mused, picking up his tea to take a sip as he flipped it open.

Whether by chance or some stroke of fate, the picture that met his eyes was that of three dwarves, their arms locked around him as he stood smiling in their embrace. The tea was instantly forgotten, cup clattering to the floor and smashing into small pieces, even as Bilbo's heart threatened to break from his chest with the assault of memories long lost. A journey, friends, family, loving arms, blue eyes, threat of war, then nothing. He clutched his arms around himself, breath hitching rapidly. He had no idea what had happened. How could he have forgotten?

"Master hobbit!" Aragorn cried fearfully. "Are you alright?" He clasped the smaller man close, wondering if he should be checking for an injury, as tightly as the hobbit was clutching his chest. "Easy there, just breathe, there now, it's alright," he muttered, even as he realized he really didn't know enough to promise that.

"My friends," Bilbo sobbed brokenly. "How could I have forgotten! Please!" he cried, startling Aragorn as he was faced with the hobbits full attention. "Do you know the fate of the company that went to reclaim Erebor? There was a war. Did they live?"

"I believe so," the man offered slowly, calling to mind all he knew of the distant kingdom.

Bilbo let out a hysterical noise of relief, jumping to his feet and beginning to scurry about the rooms, clearly on a mission. "I must get to Erebor at once," he called out loudly, even as he began to pack a bag full of things that would aid in travel. The man silently applauded his choices, the hobbit was clearly well versed in long distance travel, skipping over the frivolities that most of his kind would have likely brought along.

"Why the hurry, if you don't mind my asking?" he questioned, making his way to the door. "I should like to accompany you, if that would be acceptable. I have never been to the mountain, and one should not travel alone in the wild."

Bilbo smiled, slinging the pack across his shoulders. "I fell in love with their king," he admitted, a flush crossing his cheeks. "I wish to know if he still feels the same." He had slipped the mail on, covering it with an old shirt and strapping the sword about his waist. "I don't suppose we can bring this with us?" he asked, indicating the chest. "I'd rather not leave it behind."

"Of course. We can rent a couple of ponies." Aragorn hesitated, not wishing to offend the smaller man. "You _do_ know how to ride?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Bilbo laughed.

* * *

"I must say, this trip has been far less eventful than the last one," the hobbit remarked to his taller companion as they made their way into Dale. It was late, the first stars sprinkling across the sky, and nearly six months to the day that they had left. Their path went briefly through Rivendell, across the Misty Mountains, through Beorn's home, and Thranduil's kingdom. Esgaroth had apparently been abandoned in favor of Dale, but the new city was thriving in the cradle of the mountain.

The two took a room for the night, opting for a rest so that they might make their way to Erebor in the light of day. Bilbo did not think he would get any sleep, his nerves on fire with anticipation, but at least his patient mount deserved a break. The gentle mare shared a similar temperament to his Myrtle, and he had grown quite fond of her. His thoughts were with a group of boisterous dwarves as he wriggled around in the large bed, eyes slowly slipping shut, until thoughts turned into dreams that would be forgotten by morning.

* * *

"You are not going to believe this!" Nori yelled, barging into Thorin's chambers unannounced. The king scowled at him, but the spymaster easily ignored his default facial expression, nearly bouncing in uncommon excitement. "There is rumor that a hobbit is at the inn in Dale!" he announced.

Instantly Thorin was on his feet, heart stopping in his chest. "Is it him?" he whispered.

"Well, I didn't actually wait around to see, but really, who else could it be?" the former thief drawled, grin unwavering.

Thorin felt himself trembling, and he began to pace, trying in vain to get his thoughts in order. "We must be ready to welcome him at the gate, we need a room ready, scratch that, he'll be staying in my room, Oh Mahal! Nori you had better be right about this..." he growled, but there was no bite to the threat.

"Shall I tell the others?" Nori laughed, already skipping towards the door.

"Yes, yes," Thorin muttered absently, thoughts already fixed on a green-eyed hobbit.

* * *

Bilbo was up with the sun, his things gathered and out the door into the crisp air even as Aragorn tumbled behind him, chuckling at his companions eagerness. The ride was short, but the distance seemed to take years for Bilbo, until he was close enough to see a group of painfully familiar faces ranged in the gate way. He dismounted for the last bit, handing off the reigns to Aragorn so he could walk unimpeded.

Silence ranged between the companions as Bilbo came to a halt a few steps in front of Thorin, a wobbly smile spanning his face in answer to their uncertain and hopeful looks. "Bilbo Baggins at your service," he offered with a short bow. "Sorry I'm late. I seem to have lost my way for awhile."

* * *

**Author's note: Aaand that's it! I realize there are a couple loose ends lying about, such as the ring (most likely abandoned on the floor of Bag End), and Gandalf finding out about Bilbo's mental recovery, but I think those are things best left to another tale. This was simply about a hobbit finding his way home, and I hope the ending is to your liking.  
**


	6. Fear of Dreams

**Author's note: I know I said this story was finished, but after posting it on ao3 and getting as good a reception as I did here, plus an overwhelming call for more, I figured I had better deliver. This is the first chapter of about 4 more, barring any unexpected brainwaves, and should help to provide some insight to what happens after. We look more into Thorin's side of things, reactions from the company to Bilbo, and general feels and healing between the reunited couple. Gandalf will make an appearance later, and there will be some surprising (or not) reactions to him as well, so I hope you enjoy what I've come up with.**

* * *

Bilbo found himself slack jawed with amazement, once he was able to tear his gaze away from Thorin and the company. Erebor had flourished during his time away, and he felt as if he were looking upon a scene from legend. The walls and floors gleamed, polished to a mirror shine, and lanterns kept the chambers filled with a golden glow. He gripped Thorin's hand tightly, using the promise of stability to let his eyes wander unhindered.

"This is incredible!" he murmured softly, smiling up at the dwarf who was more than pleased to receive such praise. "You must have worked so hard."

Thorin grinned, for what felt like the first time in ten years, feeling a relief such as nearly left him shaking. The hand in his was so very warm, those eyes long missed sparkling up at him, and the world at last felt as if it were settling into its proper place. "It's what we do best," he acknowledged happily. Squeezing the hand in his gently, he pulled Bilbo along with a little more haste. "Come, I want to show you where you'll be staying." He ignored the others as they drifted off, scowling mildly at the suggestive comments that followed them down the hall.

"Do I want to know?" Bilbo asked curiously, having not understood the harsh khuzdul.

Thorin just shook his head, trying to hide the flush that accompanied certain images now entering his thoughts. "No, you really don't," he assured his companion vehemently, feeling pleased when Bilbo just snickered in understanding. By this time they had reached the door to his rooms, and the king felt a moment of shuffling uncertainty, wondering if he was assuming things that he shouldn't, but he gave himself a shake and pushed onward, stopping just over the threshold to allow the hobbit his first look around.

Bilbo wondered about the nervousness that suddenly graced Thorin's face, before blinking in surprise at the sight that greeted him. The room was huge, and decked in furs and tapestries, and despite the distinct lack of gold Bilbo would have bet on the space belonging to royalty. Surely this was not intended for someone as simple as him? He looked to the dwarf questioningly, and saw the answer in Thorin's fidgety anxiousness. He had only seen the king this way once before, when Thorin first asked him to stay in Erebor, before they had even reached the mountain. "Are these your rooms?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral, even as he felt a stirring of anticipation.

Thorin grimaced, preparing for the rejection he expected even now, despite not having been given a single sign to suggest it would come. His answer was halting. "Yes, they are, I hope I'm not being too forward, if it is not to your liking I can find others..." He ground to a halt, clearing his throat and then lapsing into silence.

"I like them," Bilbo assured him, feeling nervous himself as he bounced up on his toes, pulling back at the last moment before he kissed the dwarf. Perhaps he was assuming too much? Though, surely Thorin would not offer to share his own rooms unless there was still something there.

"Oh just kiss already," an amused voice sounded from behind them, causing the two to leap away from each other, faces flaming in shock and embarrassment.

Bilbo turned to see the newcomer, and found himself utterly confused, for here was a carbon copy of Thorin if he ever saw one, except for the voice, which rose an octave higher. The dress also, hugging curves that his king certainly didn't have. The eyes were the same, the hair just a touch less silvered, and the expression one of mischievous amusement so reminiscent of Fili and Kili... "You're Thorin's sister," he chuckled wryly, pleased to have figured this out without an introduction, and then flushing when he returned to her words of advise.

"Aye, that I am, and you should know that my brother has been pining after you for ten years, so don't you keep him waiting. It's certainly been long enough that we had to listen to his..."

"Out, sister mine," Thorin growled, closing the door none too gently in her face.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't!" she sang from the other side, before her laughter rang down the hall, along with her retreat.

The quiet threatened to become dangerously uncomfortable as the two traded sideways glances, as awkward as young ones with their first crush. It was Bilbo that finally took the needed leap. "Is it true? I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you for finding some nice dwarven lass, I'm sure there are enough here that one might have caught your attention..." He trailed off as Thorin's uncertainty shifted to near horror.

"What? Bilbo, no! There has never been anyone else! I would have waited..." Thorin was abruptly cut off when Bilbo leaned up to press their lips together, and he lost himself in the heady warmth, gripping the hobbit to him snugly. It was several moments before they drew back for air. "So you didn't either then?"

"Rather hard for me to find a dwarven lass in the Shire," Bilbo teased gently, earning a snort and another round of kissing. He raised a hand up to tangle his fingers in Thorin's hair, reveling in the feeling. His eyes softened, looking beyond for a moment as he remembered years of solitude. "I think I always knew there was someone waiting," he said thoughtfully. "For years it felt like the house was just a little too quiet, like something was missing. I only wish it hadn't taken so long to figure out what..." he added wistfully.

"You're here now," Thorin smiled warmly. "You never have to leave again. You're _not_ leaving again, are you?"

There it was again, that hesitation, and Bilbo wanted to wipe that look off Thorin's face for good. "Nope, not going anywhere. Here I stand and here I will stay, for as long as you will have me," he declared stridently.

They spent the rest of the day closeted together, just talking, and holding each other close. The room rang with laughter, and some tears, and always there were the looks of wonder and relief, as they relearned each others touch with loving caresses. If the conversation drifted over to the bed, and clothes were lost, well, that was nobodies business but their own.

* * *

_It was dark in Erebor. Dark around the throne where Thorin sat buried in visions of gold. Dark in the halls when he glanced up at the sound of the frightened shout. Dark in his mind as he turned away, dismissing it as unimportant. Yet something drew him to his feet, and a part of him that was becoming consumed by nameless terror knew exactly where his path would lead him. Yet he had no choice but to follow. Down the dark halls, past the gold that nearly blinded him, until the nightmare was complete, with a small crumpled form surrounded by an abyss, sightless eyes meeting only shadows. Thorin didn't want to approach, but his legs no longer obeyed his wishes. Always it ended this way, the hobbit clutched in his arms, past help, past hope, lost to the dark..._

Thorin woke shaking, certain he was going to be sick. He was weeping softly, and out of instinct he reached out for the hobbit that was never there. Once again, his hands met empty sheets, and his heart dropped in despair. Of course it was a dream, that Bilbo was here. The hobbit was gone, lost to the dark, and Thorin was alone. He buried his face in his arms, pulling at his hair in desperation, and it took him far too long to realize that there were hands tugging at his. A voice, gently calling, that he would always answer.

"Thorin? What's wrong?"

Bilbo's face slowly came into view, blurred by his tears, and the hobbit bore an expression of panicked concern. He shuddered, allowing Bilbo to pull his hands down and away from his hair, until they rested in his lap, twined together with his love. "You're here, not dead, not..." Thorin managed to choke out, the words coming out edged in disbelief.

"Oh Thorin," Bilbo sighed, gathering the other close. "I'm here, I'm alright." He rested their foreheads together, tugging Thorin's hands up to rest against his heart, the pulse steady and strong under the dwarfs fingertips. "I'll never leave again," he promised, and then he was kissing at the tear tracks down Thorin's face, until their lips met.

Kisses that started soft soon became frenzied, their need too great to be restrained. Despite this, Thorin was thorough, mapping out every inch of flesh bared to him with trembling hands, and Bilbo eagerly returned the gesture. No words were needed, and only the whisper of each others name broke the silence, sounding like a promise in itself.

* * *

Morning brought with it a deep contentment, when Thorin woke to find his nose buried in blond curls, and a warm body resting snugly in his arms. Bilbo looked beautiful as he slept, and the dwarf carefully kept still, wanting to preserve the moment.

Bilbo only woke when there was a knock on the door, opening his eyes slowly and smiling shyly up at the dwarf that held him close. "Morning," he offered sleepily, voice thick as he let out a yawn.

"Mmm, and a wonderful one it is, love," Thorin returned, delighting in the way Bilbo's cheeks flushed at the endearment. He rubbed a thumb over the bloom of color, steadfastly ignoring the continued noise from the hall, even as it gained in volume.

"Perhaps you should answer that?" Bilbo suggested with a light grin.

Thorin shook his head. "Then I'd have to leave you." He raised his voice enough that those in the hall would hear it. "They'll go away if they know what's good for them!"

"No we won't!" came the instant reply, and Bilbo could almost hear the laughter in the voices of Fili and Kili, right before they shoved the door open and came bouncing into the room. "It's breakfast time!" they announced gleefully, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Out!" Thorin ordered them sternly. "We'll be ready in a moment."

"No can do," the two denied him. "Mum said to stay or you wouldn't listen." They grinned unrepentantly, knowing the wrath of their mother was far more fearsome than anything their uncle could dish out. Apparently he agreed, for Thorin sagged back, growling in irritation about annoying siblings.

It was Bilbo who came to the rescue. "Please just give us a moment?" he pleaded earnestly. "I promise we will come, I just need you to leave." When they raised a brow in question Bilbo reddened. "We're not wearing anything," he explained.

Instantly the duo were backing out, looking suitably traumatized. "Oh Mahal! I did not need to know that!" Fili moaned dramatically.

"We are never calling them for breakfast again!" Kili agreed, slamming the door behind them and leaving the two laughing uncontrollably.


	7. Hold You Close

"I could put it off..." Thorin suggested forlornly, eyeing the door that stood as the only barrier between him and the duties he had that day, as if it had personally offended him.

Bilbo smiled benignly, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Duty calls, your majesty. The people will not be patient for your sake." He reached up, tugging gently on one of the braids framing Thorin's face, before attempting to kiss away the dour expression he bore. "Go, I'll be fine. I plan to visit some of the others, and I will be here when you get back." Seeing doubt, and the smallest flicker of long held fears, he squeezed Thorin's hands reassuringly. "I promise."

At last Thorin sighed, turning for the door, something in Bilbo's earnest gaze managing to resolve his worries. They had returned to the room after breakfast with the company, only so Thorin could change into more formal attire and reluctantly prepare for the day. Despite the presence of his beloved, he could already feel his mood souring at the thought of hours of meetings and paperwork. The meetings were deadly dull, and unfortunately unavoidable. Perhaps he could skip some of the paperwork, he mused. He might foist some of it off on his idle nephews, they needed the work. Grinning at the picture this conjured, two young heads bent over a desk, he was a little more uplifted. The memory of Bilbo's lips on his didn't hurt either, and he carried the feeling with him down the hall, unaware of the silly quirk to his lips that left those to spot it with knowing smiles.

Bilbo left the room not long after, feeling eager to see more of the mountain, and to spend quality time with the company that he had missed for so long. He had been besieged with questions at breakfast, and being surrounded once more by the merry energy of his friends was a balm to his loneliness. Strolling down the halls, he contemplated who he might see first. He knew some of the company were at jobs of their own, and could not be interrupted, but Ori had mentioned working at the library, and that he would not mind company in the slightest. It had been an obvious hint, and Bilbo smiled in anticipation of the heady smell of old books and quiet conversation with his soft-spoken friend.

After a couple wrong turns, and the advice of some of the dwarves that were in the halls, Bilbo at last found his destination. He was quick to slip inside, shoulders dropping in relief to be out of sight of the crowds. He had been the object of many curious stares, from anyone who had yet to hear the news of a hobbit in the mountain. It was rather unnerving, and he relished the opportunity to escape the intense scrutiny of so many judging eyes.

Ori spotted him almost right away, waving him over from where he was seated behind a towering stack of scrolls and tattered books. "There's always more to do," he explained as the hobbit joined him on the bench. "These need refurbishing, and there's not many that are willing or skilled enough to take on the task, never mind that it is important history that ought to be remembered." The dwarf scowled lightly, his long-suffering tone one of a lecture that had likely been repeated many times to deaf ears.

"I'd be glad to help, though I know little of your writings," Bilbo offered, glancing over the nearest text with a scholars interest. He picked it up, blowing off the dust, only to let out several rapid-fire sneezes while he hurriedly placed the old parchment out of harms range. "Whoops, bit of dust there," he remarked wryly as he recovered. His nose had begun to clog, a fact he attributed to the general atmosphere of the room, and he gave it not a second thought.

"Perhaps we had better leave off for now," Ori suggested uncertainly, getting to his feet. "I could use a break anyhow, I've been at these particular scrolls for days."

Bilbo shrugged, deciding it might be a good idea after all. "Alright then, did you have anything in mind?" He trotted after the longer legged dwarf, until Ori noticed and considerately slowed his pace.

"We can visit the kitchens," Ori informed him with an almost dreamy expression. "Bombur likes the visitors, it gives him people to taste test his inventions before they go to table." Seeing Bilbo's more dubious look, Ori laughed. "Don't worry, it's more a formality than anything, he's never turned out anything inedible yet."

Sure enough, the rotund dwarf waved them to a table with a smile as he hurried about before the ovens in his domain. The two were treated to a feast of magnificent proportions, as numerous dishes were sampled one after another. Bilbo, who was a rather good chef in his own right, and very much enjoyed food even on the worst of days, had only praise for his friend. "These are fantastic!" he exclaimed around a mouthful of some sort of cheesy concoction. This he chased with a shot of ale, followed swiftly by some meaty tarts that oozed gravy, to his intense delight.

"Here, try these next," Bombur offered, pushing a dessert crumble under his nose. Bilbo took an appreciative sniff, prepared to dig right in, only for his stomach to take that moment to give a roll of protest. The hobbit frowned in apology, swallowing down sudden unease. "You know, this smells wonderful, but I don't think I could eat another bite."

The two fell silent in shock. "A hobbit, not hungry?" Bombur joked, thinking Bilbo was just teasing them.

"Yes, it is odd," Bilbo replied almost absently, tiny wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes and mouth as his look of discomfort increased. "Is it just me, or is it quite hot in here?" he inquired of his friends, and they noticed then the rising flush on his cheeks. Even Bombur, who had been in front of the ovens all morning, was not so affected, and the two dwarves exchanged alarmed glances.

"Are you feeling alright?" Ori asked worriedly, reaching out to place a palm on the hobbits neck. He retracted it almost instantly as if he had been scalded. "Mahal, Bilbo you're burning up. We need to get you to Oin, that can't be normal!"

Bilbo snorted, still in denial. "Nonsense, it's just hot in here. I need a little air, that's all. I'll take a walk out to the balcony, come on. See you later Bombur, and thank you for the food, it was delightful." Striding out the door with a genial wave, he left behind an anxiously floundering Bombur as Ori raced to catch up with him.

They made it to the balcony rather quickly, as it was one of the only places Bilbo remembered, and the hobbit sighed in relief to feel cool air wafting across his burning cheeks. He began to feel better right away, and leaned happily against the wall. Ori wrung his hands nearby, wondering how to politely suggest that the hobbit was not at all well, his concern not to offend his friend warring with that of the rising flush on Bilbo's pale skin. He could not understand how he hadn't seen it when first they met that morning, but perhaps it had been the dim light that hid the evidence. It was obvious enough now. He had just opened his mouth to beg Bilbo to come inside when the hobbit turned to him, swaying slightly.

"That was quite nice, I think I'm ready to go back in now."

"Maybe you could take a nap?" Ori suggested timidly, shrinking a little when Bilbo raised an indignant brow. "The trip cannot have been easy, getting here," he clarified.

"It wasn't so bad," Bilbo argued. "No trolls or goblins this time round." He headed for the door leading inside, cursing when he stumbled over his feet. "Perhaps you're right though," he conceded. "After all, I'm not as young as I was last time. A nap might make all the difference." So saying, he wandered off in the direction of his and Thorin's room, unaware of Ori following closely as his mind began to wander in exhaustion. By the time he reached the bed he was too tired to even undress, and Ori had been supporting him by the arm for a good bit. He didn't know how it had come on so fast, but now he was ready to sleep, and he fell gratefully under the covers. Ori left quietly after settling him, already headed for aid as Bilbo's fever rose.

* * *

When Thorin got back to his room after a hard day it was to find a madhouse. Nearly all the company was there, shuffling around in various states of agitation, and Thorin was just about to roar at them to get out when he noticed Bilbo sleeping. He was immediately on the alert. Bilbo had been fresh as a daisy that morning, there was no way he should have felt the need to go to bed so soon.

"What's going on?" he barked authoritatively, gaining the attention of all but the nearly deaf Oin, who was still rummaging through some things at a nearby table.

"Our hobbit appears to be ill," Balin informed him with a frown, the elder dwarf appearing to brace himself for Thorin's inevitable blow up. To the surprise of the others, Thorin ignored them once he had gotten his information, hurrying to Bilbo's side to check for himself. He brushed a hand over Bilbo's cheek, smoothing sweaty curls off his face and wincing at the temperature of the hobbits skin.

"He was fine this morning," he muttered to himself. "Surely I would have noticed..."

Behind him he heard Ori making some sort of apology. "I should have seen it, he must have been sick already when he came to see me, but I kept him out of bed all morning," the scribe wailed, guilt washing over him. Thorin didn't bother to acknowledge this, as Ori's brothers were already attempting to assuage his concerns.

"How could this happen?" he asked no one in particular, not even expecting a response.

"If you'll recall, I got sick the last time I came through lake town as well," a hoarse voice said dryly from the depths of the covers.

"Bilbo!" the others exclaimed, crowding around to watch as one green eye cracked open to gaze up at them in exasperation.

"You should be asleep," Thorin chided gently.

"Because that's so easy when there are a pack of dwarves in the room wailing as if they were at a funeral," the hobbit sniped back, earning several looks of guilt. "I'm not dead yet, so you can just relax," he admonished them grumpily.

"Don't even say that," Thorin pleaded, promptly grabbing Bilbo closer as if to ward off the death he had so casually mentioned.

"You should all go, I don't want you getting sick too," Bilbo encouraged, though he was muffled from his face being pressed against Thorin's shirt.

"Then they had best bring extra blankets, because I am not leaving your side," Thorin announced firmly.

* * *

Bilbo soon got better, and Thorin managed to avoid getting sick at all, but it was clear something had changed, and the hobbit wasn't sure he liked it. The dwarves hovered more than ever, making sure he always had food, or an extra jacket, and asking all sorts of prying questions about his general health. He even found himself sneaking off at times, finding small places to hide and be by himself, just to escape the interrogations. He had been alone for so long, that having people care felt smothering instead of bringing the comfort that it ought. Yet Bilbo was stuck. He was a hobbit, and his people would no more tell others to sod off than they could fly. It just wasn't done.

His rescue came in an unexpected form, and gave him a new friend to boot. The Lady Dis was a formidable presence, all clothed in furs and leaving grown men trembling when they fell under her ire. It was she that noticed the way the hobbit would frown almost imperceptibly at times, and begin to fidget with his pockets, as if he might turn inside out and climb in one to get away from the overbearing ways of his friends. One roaring tirade from here sent them packing, and he was grateful to note that they settled down quite a bit from then on. He had invited her into his room for tea in thanks, beginning a tradition that would last them many years.

* * *

**Author's note: Hurrah for Dis being her awesome self! This chapter was a bit lighter, but the next is going to be rather angsty again, as more of the past gets dragged up. At the risk of offering spoilers, Bilbo and Thorin were not the only ones to suffer from this loss, and a conversation will take place between some of them that brings to light a few things that had been kept secret.  
**


	8. Hindsight

Nearly a week after Bilbo's recovery, he found himself being shepherded around by Fili and Kili, the two eager to show him more of the mountain while Thorin was busy. Though, if Bilbo suspected the original order to come from the king himself, he would not have been surprised in the slightest. Nevertheless, he was enjoying himself immensely, as the two young dwarves were excellent guides, if a little over enthusiastic at times.

They had just reached a newer section of the markets, and Bilbo was perusing the goods with interest. "There's so much to see," he mused, glancing up in time to see Kili rolling his eyes dramatically. "What?" Silently, Kili pointed over to a group of chattering lasses, their eyes clearly rooted on his brother. Fili bore an odd expression, almost pained, but made no move to approach them. "Why doesn't he speak to them? Are they annoying or something?" the hobbit asked curiously. Beside them, Fili muttered something too low for him to hear, followed by a noncommittal shrug, and when no further response was forthcoming Bilbo huffed and let it go. It seemed he would have to content himself with a mystery, and the thought nagged at him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Hobbits do not take well to secrets. Mind, they love having secrets, but not knowing one? That is unacceptable, and Bilbo was no exception. He did the only thing he could think of. Sitting before the fire by Thorin's side that evening, he casually brought the subject to light.

"You know, Fili was behaving rather oddly today."

"Is that so?" The dwarf chuckled, figuring Bilbo had simply become a victim to one of the boys pranks and was using this opportunity to tell him about it. Thorin did not feel concerned, for his hobbit was clearly unharmed and didn't appear to be unduly bothered. Well, that wasn't precisely right. The hobbit was thoughtful, maybe a bit upset even. Thorin sighed. If he had to yell at Kili again for bothering someone it would be the end of him. The lad had given him more grey hairs in the last decade than he cared to admit. And it was Kili who was always the ringleader, even if Fili was the one Bilbo had brought up first. He was bracing himself for yet another stupid tale involving his nephews when Bilbo's words brought him up short.

"Yes," the hobbit said. "He was utterly ignoring a group of nice girls that only wanted to speak with him. Then he refused to tell me why. It was very strange. Do you have any idea what is going on?"

Bilbo looked over at him, to see Thorin's face fall and shoulders slump in defeat. "I do not know," the dwarf answered wearily, the problem clearly one that had been plaguing him for a long time. "I have seen it too. He will not tell me why, but he avoids the young women like a plague." He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I know he likes them, he used to flirt with them all the time before we came here. The lad was a regular heart breaker," he added, with a chuckle at the memory.

"I wonder if Kili knows," Bilbo mused thoughtfully, recalling the flash of sadness that the dwarf carefully tucked away at the time.

As if his words were a summons, there was a knock on the door, and Kili himself poked his head in. "Evening Bilbo, Uncle," he greeted them cordially. "May I come in?" At Bilbo's wave he slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him and sitting nearby. For a moment he just studied the hobbit, and Bilbo was left mildly uncomfortable by the unusually serious expression he was faced with. Clearing his throat, Kili spoke low. "I suppose you want to know what that was all about today?" The pair nodded, but still Kili hesitated for a moment. "Just, promise you won't be angry with him," he asked forcefully.

"Of course," Bilbo instantly replied. "Kili, whatever is the matter?"

The younger dwarf sighed, drawing in a steadying breath and then getting the lot out in one go. "He got so worked up, watching how uncle wasn't really coping with you being gone, that he swore he would never fall in love, because he doesn't want to feel that way." Kili threw a look of guilt in Thorin's direction, directly in response to the low sound of despair that fell from his uncles mouth, and Bilbo reached out without even thinking, grabbing his hand and holding tight. "He didn't want you to know,when you were already so sad," Kili explained, "but I thought you should know now, because I can't stand to see him putting himself through this anymore."

Thorin seemed too overcome to speak, so Bilbo hastened to reassure Kili himself. "We will talk to him, I promise you," he murmured, glancing at Thorin before offering a slight amendment. "Perhaps not tonight though. I think Thorin needs to digest this for a bit, and we will speak to him in the morning."

"Just don't leave it too long alright?" the young dwarf pleaded emotionally. "Nothing I have said has done any good." Bilbo nodded, reaching out with Thorin's hand still tucked in his to embrace Kili. The dwarf squeezed back gently, soaking in the comfort, before he pressed his forehead to Thorin's. "I'm sorry Uncle. You know this wasn't your fault right? It's going to be okay now." With those last words he headed for the door, calling good night back to the pair before slipping out as quietly as he came.

Thorin had his head bowed in sorrow, and Bilbo could tell he was mentally beating himself up. The hobbit huffed and got to his feet. This just would not do. "Thorin? Why don't you come to bed, we can get a good nights sleep and think on this fresh in the morning. I'm certain that together we can break through this funk that Fili is in and work things out." He had tried to sound confident, but not even his reassurance was having any effect. He tugged on Thorin's hands, stopping short when he got immovable resistance. He sighed. Apparently they were going to talk about it now. "Thorin?" he asked, staring pointedly until the dwarf looked up.

"It's all my fault," came the dull response, eyes glimmering with emotion. "I was supposed to be strong for them, to keep them from worrying. Everything was supposed to be alright. We had our home, our family. They should not have to know my sorrow."

"You should not have to grieve alone," Bilbo corrected gently. "You didn't fail him, not for this. Not for acting like someone with feelings. You'd go mad, if you acted like a stone all the time. I'm sure he understands that."

"I did fail!" Thorin vehemently disagreed. "First you, then him. Even Kili, who got blamed for far more than his share of trouble these last years. I have been using him as a scapegoat, when he deserved so much better. The worst of it is, he just takes it, as if he doesn't know anything else, and I'm beginning to wonder if that isn't the case. Have I really fallen so low?"

Bilbo considered this for a moment, as he could tell his answer would be important. "Well, what does your sister think? Has she ever confronted you about it?"

"No. Why does that matter?" Thorin asked, sorrow lessening in the face of this perplexing question.

Bilbo chuckled in relief. "That's your answer though, isn't it? Do you honestly think Dis is the sort of woman who would sit back and let her sons be bullied by anyone?"

"Of course not!" Then Thorin's face brightened. "Ahh, I see. You think she would have told me."

"I know she would have," Bilbo amended firmly. He reached down, drawing Thorin to his feet and leading him towards the bed as they spoke. The dwarf offered little resistance now that he had a small weight lifted off his conscience. "By that logic also, you can rest assured that Fili's condition is no more your fault than Kili."

The self deprecating frown returned. "How do you figure that? I don't think even _you _can talk me out of being at fault here."

"We'll see about that," Bilbo snorted. "I'll tell you, but you must get into bed first. I want to relax, and you are far too tense."

Obliging reluctantly, if only because he was mildly curious, Thorin stripped off his day clothes and sank onto the bed with a weary groan. "Alright, I'm listening," he challenged, arms crossed defiantly over his chest as if bracing for bad news.

Bilbo would have been tempted to laugh at the childish pose if not for the serious events that had brought it about. His king really knew how to take sulking to the next level, and he made broodiness into an art form. "It's simple. Either Dis knew what was ailing her son, and doesn't blame you for it, or she didn't know more than _you_ about the situation. I do not think you can blame yourself if Fili has been so close mouthed about it that not even his own _mother_ knew what was bothering him. Now, turn round."

"Why?" Thorin asked, not looking entirely satisfied with the answers he had gotten, but knowing Bilbo's stubbornness far outweighed his own. He would get nothing more from the hobbit, and he knew he should be grateful that Bilbo had been so adamant in shifting his mood. His love was a marvel, constantly striving to make him happy even when he was hurting himself. And Thorin could tell, the news Kili brought that night had shaken Bilbo also. It seemed self blame was a spreading thing.

There he was, doing it again. Thorin moaned in pleasure as soft hands kneaded the muscles of his shoulders, moving slowly down his back with just enough firmness to beat back the nagging pain that hit after a long day. "Whatever would I do without you?" he murmured, even as he felt sleep calling, his body at last beginning to relax. Bilbo laid him down, stretching out at his side and grabbing up the blankets.

"Oh, you'd turn into a stiff necked rock, I expect," Bilbo teased softly, before laying an arm across his chest and nuzzling against him with a contented hum. His breathing slowed, and Thorin soon followed him into sleep.

* * *

Despite Bilbo's bid of confidence the night before, the pair were both nervous as they knocked at Fili's door together. They did not know what to expect from this confrontation, and knowing that the dwarf had been hiding this pain for a decade was a revelation that promised a difficult conversation to follow.

Unsurprisingly, Kili was already there, standing behind his concerned brother when the door opened to admit them. "Uncle? Is something wrong? Kili told me you wished to speak with me, but he's been awfully closed mouthed about why. Have I done something wrong?"

Thorin was almost unable to answer. He felt a deep ache at the thought that Fili would automatically assume a talk with him meant trouble. This was not the image he wanted them to have of him. Beside him, Bilbo had his hand held tightly, and it was his grip that allowed him to speak the needed words. "No Fili, you've done nothing wrong. Neither of you have. In fact, I couldn't be more proud of the pair of you," he announced firmly, placing a hand on Fili's shoulder.

"Erm, you haven't been drinking have you? It's a bit early for that you know," the blond offered cautiously, forcing a bark of bitter laughter from Thorin's lips. Had it been that long since he had complimented either one of them? Thinking back, he was shamed to realize Fili's confusion was well founded. He had a lot to make up for, and what better time than now to start? Thorin struggled to think of a way to ease gently into the discussion, before heaving a frustrated breath. He didn't do gentle, that was as foreign to him as living in a tree.

Nothing for it then. "It was brought to my attention that you were more upset by Bilbo's leaving, and mostly my reaction to it, than you let on," he said bluntly, not at all shocked when Fili's expression shifted to mulish denial and an accusatory glare in his brothers direction.

"You told them?" he growled. "Why would you do that?"

"He didn't want you to hurt anymore," Thorin broke in, when it was clear Kili would offer no words in his own defense. "I for one am glad he told us. It pains me to think you shared my burden, while carrying your own in silence. I hope you will not be angry with your brother, he has taken far more than his share of abuse lately, and all from someone who should have known better." He turned to Kili then, hoping to get all apologies out in one day. "I'm sorry, I have been unjust with you. It was not your fault."

To Thorin's shock (but not Bilbo's), Kili merely shrugged. "It's alright Uncle, I knew why you did it. To be honest, I may have started some of those pranks on purpose, so you'd have someone better to yell at than the council, or the ambassadors."

"What?" Thorin blinked. "You knew? Then why...? No, never mind, we'll talk about this later." When Kili just grinned, having expected nothing less, he turned back to the more important subject. Fili had sat on his bed, and was glaring at the floor. "Fili, please talk to me. What are you afraid of?" Thorin knew his fear, but he had to hear it confirmed, even if the pain of such a truth would cut deeper than the one that caused it.

"I couldn't bare it, to hurt like you did, or mother when father died! It's not worth it! Why should I give myself to someone just so I can turn into a shadow! I'm fine on my own." He was ranting now, purging ten years of pain like poison from a wound, but Thorin was not sure it was helping him to go on like this. He seemed only to be getting angrier. Suddenly, his mouth snapped shut in shock, when Bilbo broke in quietly, the usually optimistic hobbit matching his pain with anguished doubt.

"This is my fault," he cried softly. "If I had just stayed quiet, I would have gone home nothing more than your friend, and you all would have been happy. I had to open my big mouth, reaching for things I had no right to. I was content enough on my own..." He trailed off, barely able to get the last bit out, as untrue as it was.

Fili found his voice again after a moment of dumbfounded silence. "That's not true. You and Uncle are meant to be together. You're the best thing that ever happened to him, even with all that has happened. I've never seen him happier than he is with you." He was thoughtful now, frowning deeply as he considered the implications of this. "Perhaps loving someone isn't all bad, if it is the right person," he conceded slowly.

"Then you will stop shutting yourself away?" Thorin asked, holding Bilbo close to silently reassure the hobbit that everything Fili had said was true.

Fili sighed. "I will think about it," he compromised.

Smiling in relief, Thorin pulled him into a hug, extending an arm out to include Kili as well. "That's all I ask," he murmured. For now, they were together, and it would be enough.

* * *

**Author's note: A good dose of hobbit sense is enough to bring Thorin to see reason, but even hobbits have self-doubt, and I wanted that to show for Bilbo. He will naturally feel that he is to blame for the havoc that has been wrought, and it is only when Fili realizes that not having Bilbo around at all would be horrible that things start to come right again. **


End file.
